


The Prophet Sang A Somber Tune

by Chainsaw_Maiden



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 90s setting, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Gen, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Okay so Crowley is related to Aleister Crowley, Rejection, Slow Burn, Unrequited Crush, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chainsaw_Maiden/pseuds/Chainsaw_Maiden
Summary: Aziraphale has been orphaned. Not only has he been orphaned, but in a last ditch effort, his social worker finds him a foster home on Shetland Island. He knows that it's going to be a whole new mess.He is glad to find himself in a nice foster home, but something is off about one of his foster siblings.Anthony Crowley on the other hand is almost old enough to leave his old life and take back his family's property. He thinks he can leave no strings attached, but new boy in his home proves that it might be more difficult than imagined.





	1. Shetland o' Home of Mine

Fuck the foster system.

Really. 

Because today an already shitty home got an extra paycheck. Butthankfully, it was not this one,

A young boy- around the age of seventeen, sat in a green station wagon. He took in the view as he fiddled with his thumbs, because today he was being relocated. His grief watered down after the months of heartache. 

The blue grey sky set a backdrop on a small neck of woods and an expansive golden field cut between a large house and a hill that reached for the stars. 

A middle aged woman looks back to him from the front seat and smiles. Her talkative attitude had been quite a nuisance to the child, especially on the ferry ride from Aberdeen to the island their car was now driving on. It was quite the day's trip. 

"Are you excited to meet your new foster family Aziraphale?" She exclaimed, and promptly looks back at the road in front of her. Despite it being empty, road safety is important.

He doesn't respond but Ms. Loquacious continued her chattering. "You know they have 3 kids there about your age, and 3 more who are a little younger than you," she stops to make change gears with a disgruntled grimace Aziraphale almost heard a "damn stick shift" slink out of his social worker's mouth. 

"I don't know, it sounds packed." Aziraphale said reluctantly, Ms. Loquacious laughed. 

"Don't worry the estate is quite large. You should have your own room, and plenty of room for your books." The car came to a steady halt that carried the two a little too far away from the house, but they would surely survive. "I have another child to escort soon, so I will simply see you off at the door dearie, I will visit in two weeks to see how you're adjusting."

Ms. Loquacious got out of the car and opened up the trunk- she would've made Aziraphale do it, but she knew that the trunk of her car had been damaged for quite some time. It was easier for her to open it herself. 

Aziraphale curled around the back of the car and wordlessly picked up a box, a suitcase, and a leather bookbag. He put on the bag, picked up the box, and precariously balanced the suitcase on top of the box. Eyeglasses crooked on his face; he stumbled down the walk way of the house. Ms. Loquacious opened the gate for him, and tentatively followed behind him. 

New balance shoes pattered down a dilapidated stone patio. Ms. Loquacious reached over Aziraphale's shoulder and knocked on the door. Almost on cue, the door swings open to a frazzled looking woman opened the door. 

"Agnes Nutter?" Ms. Loquacious asked, the woman nodded. Aziraphale was kept in the dark during this time, because his leather suitcase was covering his whole face. 

"You're 10 minutes late," Agnes tsked and turned around, "Anthony help this one with his bags!" She yelled up the stairs and a tall, gangly redhead thumps his way down the stairs, his long legs bending in a wild fashion. 

He wore sunglasses indoors. 

"Ma'am please don't say you took in another snot-faced kid," he complained, but the voice caught Aziraphale's attention. Anthony took the suitcase off the box it was stacked on and a sigh of relief left Aziraphale's mouth. "At least it isn't an 8 year old…" he took the luggage and sauntered off. 

"Don't sit there playing with yer' thumbs, go ahead and follow him!" Anges insisted, she dismissed Aziraphale and continued to listen to Ms. Loquacious' rambling. 

Aziraphale stumbled after Anthony, tripping over stairs as he followed. Soon enough he succumbed to his lack of balance and fell over the second he got up the stairs. He completely- as anyone watching would describe it; ate shit. Anthony stopped, and turned around. 

"How does one fall up the stairs, it's like falling into heaven?" Anthony set down the suitcase and took a few steps to hover over Aziraphale. "So did it hurt?" 

"Ha. Ha. Yes, when I fell from heaven?" Aziraphale replied without any amusement what so ever, Anthony laughed and pushed his hair back. 

"No when you ate shit back there, but you  _ could _ pass for an angel," Anthony picked up his suitcase and continued to strut down the hall. Aziraphale grumbled and picked himself up, then his bookbag, and then the box. 

"My name is Crowley by the way angel," Crowley called from down the hall. Aziraphale made a face. 

"But wait didn't Anges call you Anthony?" They reach a door. 

"Yeah but I like to be called by my last name." He opens the door. 

"I'm Aziraphale, sorry I fell back there." The door reveals what can only be described as the best and worst room ever. Crowley stares at the rotting wood panels and attempts to laugh it off. 

"Well, at least I was close with angel," he chided, Aziraphale huffed and set down the box he was carrying. 

"You can call me by my name you know?" Aziraphale insisted, Crowley shook his head and blew out some air from between his lips. 

"I like angel better, less… vowels," Crowley opened the suitcase for Aziraphale, and was surprised to see a collection of bow ties, sweater vests, tapered pants and as Crowley dug underneath; underwear. He quickly tucked them away before Aziraphale noticed. 

"I wonder if I can get rid of this wood rot with something?" Aziraphale traced a finger down the peeling paint, "Oh that's an issue as well…" Crowley waved his hand at in nonchalantly, he started picking up rugs to beat the dirt out of them outside. 

"Antifreeze and water should stop the rot, and we have some paint in the back," Crowley gestures for Aziraphale to grab the small circular green mat at the center of the room. 

The room itself was very nice- old and rustic like the rest of the house. Alas that was the very issue. The windowsill was rotting, all the mint colored paint coating the walls was peeling off, the dark hardwood floors were exposed to some minor wood rot, and everything was dusty to high hell. 

"We can take it up with Agnes as an extra chore on the board?" Crowley proposed, and with that the two romped their way down the stairs, trying to keep all the dust in the rugs. Aziraphale wandered down the room hall. There were names on the rooms, little tags hung on the door knobs. His eyes fell upon the room across from him; the old oak door tempted him to walk in, but Aziraphale's thoughts were cut short by the echo of Crowley's footsteps.

As Aziraphale continues to the front door, Crowley splits off to go out the back door. Noticing the lack of footsteps next to him and turns around. Crowley notices the lack of a person next to him and turns around in conjunction. 

"This way angel, we're gonna use the back door," Crowley affirmed, spinning on his heel to continue walking. Aziraphale tails behind him, and takes notice to the main hall. A stretching hallway hit an end and then converged into two rooms. He shakes off the wanderlust and continues to follow. 

"So, how many other people live in this house?" Aziraphale asked absent-mindedly. Crowley looks down and attempts to count on his long digits but fails and almost drops the rug. 

"Er well, there's Gabe- he's from America you know? Hastur and Ligur- they are younger than us but practically brothers. Even if they do look nothing alike. They came from Northern Ireland if I'm thinking correct. Then there's Beelzebub- they probably have the most power in the house; be careful with them," Crowley warned. The name caught attention to Aziraphale- who was working his hardest to keep walking in a straight line while Crowley talked, walked, and gesticulated without squander.

"What kind of name is Beelzebub?" He quirked an eyebrow and pushed his glasses up with his shoulder. 

"Oh Beez's parents were satanists, y'know the usual NSPCC business, they're here because they found out and just  _ fwoop _ , took them away. " Crowley explained haplessly. Aziraphale on the other hand was quite perplexed. 

"Why would anyone want to worship satan? Our lord is quite nice?" Crowley scoffed at the comment. He almost laughed- out of both amusement and pity. 

"Hate to break it to you angel, but your god has not been treating you kindly. He sent you here of all places." Silence hung in the room after that. Aziraphale clenched his fist into the rug, but he had already seen his lips shut. Crowley opened the backdoor, and motioned Aziraphale to go outside. Silently, they shook out the rugs, but that silence was quickly broken.

"My grandfather." 

"What do you mean?" Aziraphale inquired. Crowley sighed and gave the rug one last good shake. 

"My grandfather- his name was Aleister Crowley. He was one crazy bloke- said that one of his spawn would be 'the great serpent' whatever that means," Crowley pauses- realizing he never answered the question. "He's the type of guy to worship satan." 

Crowley paused. 

"It's nothing to worry about."

Aziraphale let out a small "oh" and folded up his rug. Crowley shoved the rug into Aziraphale's chest. 

"Look angel, you are going to have to carry your weight around here- or you aren't going to like it. It gets cold on this island, and nobody's going to give you any warmth if you don't take on your own responsibilities." Crowley grew cold- his smile wiped from his face. Everything suddenly grew frigid, the air, the sky, the world. 

And it made Aziraphale shiver. 


	2. Lineage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First fights tend to be easy to write

Aziraphale was unhappy. 

The fussy boy was prone to annoyance, but was never to unhappiness. 

His current unhappiness is sprouted from the fact that everything in his room was most likely alive. The walls were filled with mold, the floors as well, the bed had bugs, and Aziraphale was 98% certain that a rat had scampered across his stomach in his sleep. 

Thee room was worse during the night as well. During the day, the walls didn't seem to crawl, there wasn't howling outside the window, there wasn't a complete lack of light, and there was also company during the day. 

He did not sleep that night, and the boy in the room across the hall did not as well. Yet, the peeling paint was not what kept Crowley awake.

The one across the hall was instead sitting on the edge of his bed- pestered by intrusive thoughts. He rested a hand on his knee as he slinked off the twin sized, extra long bed, and padded across dark carpeted floor to open a window. 

Said window looked upon the opposite side of the house. So, instead of seeing the front garden- Crowley saw the woods nearby. 

The woods were the topic of many delusions and also many nights out where he sneaks into town to buy gum and steal liquor from a corner store. 

The delusions were not as fun as the drinking. 

The delusions were mostly him seeing something outside- him jumping out of the window and climbing down a lattice of jasmine, and then rushing into the woods as if he was a child from a James Lapine play. 

Tonight there was not a delusion, but instead a pressing question in Crowley's mind. 

"What's going to change?" Crowley muttered to himself , _"more importantly, how am I going to change?"_ The question echoed in his head, and then out of his mouth, and it settled deep into the pitch black night. 

The night- oh how it comforted Crowley that nothing will change. The stars assured him that no matter what he may be destined to be; he himself won't change. 

Something did change today, and Crowley was currently fraught with an overwhelming feeling of dread. 

And something else. 

Crowley climbed through the window, he let his legs hang out in the open air. A gust of wind sent itself up his shorts. 

"Ah fuck! That's cold!" Crowley yelled, moving his left leg down- which sent him flying out of the window. He landed on his back with a thud, and he could've sworn he heard a rustle in the bushes.

Aziraphale on the other hand heard the "Ah fuck!" And the proceeding thud from across the hall. The boy's nose crinkled at the crude language, but he at the very least raises an eyebrow, and dismisses his attention from his book. 

He took a second to contemplate what to do. This one turn of the wheel in Aziraphale's head would- unbeknownst to him; change his entire destiny. The wheel turned, and landed on a decision. 

Aziraphale got up from the edge of the bed, and much less like Crowley; slinked off the bed. He made sure to not make a peep; his feet were tastefully clothed with pink slippers. The slippers reminded him of his social worker- who gave him the slippers for his fifteenth birthday. He had opened the parchment wrapped gift three months ago, he sat in a Denny’s parking lot in Ms. Loquacious’ car, and was promptly brought to tears by the gift. 

He still wasn’t “over” the fire, but he was no longer caught up on it. 

The boy grabbed a lamp from the furthest corner of the room to help him see the way. Unsteady fingers open the glass hatch to the wax burning lamp, and rather hurriedly; Aziraphale grabbed the matches from his mildewy bed stand. He struck a match on his bedpost and lit the lamp.

Aziraphale opened his door slowly, and closed it even more so. The warm light of the lamp let Aziraphale see, and let the boy sigh with relief. Yet, the anticipation filled him with an unshakeable anxiety. Without a sound, he snuck down the hall and the stairs to follow the trail Crowley had shown him earlier that day. 

While Aziraphale opened the door; Crowley found out what the rustle in the bushes was. It happened in such a divinely timely manner- that it could almost be considered to be written in the stars. 

The rustle in the bushes was a very large cat with claws that could rip apart flesh, and the gangly boy was currently failing to intimidate the striped wild cat. Aziraphale froze in the doorway, but the light from the lamp flooded the doorway. 

“Hey bugger!” Aziraphale promptly threw a pastel pink slipper at the cat. It misses but caught its attention, but if you were to use proper judgment; the following slipper that flew through the air as if it were a very high speed pink bird of death™ and it slapped the wildcat in the face. The flabbergasted cat hissed and ran off. 

“Angel?” Crowley asked almost in fear, the fear was that it was instead Agnes- who would pull him back up to his room by his ear, and then take away his “Best of Queen” tapes. He wanted to believe that it was a boy he gave a cutesy pet name instead of the woman taking care of him who was more than done with his sneaking out. 

“Crowley dear- why are you out here?” Aziraphale quickly ran to Crowley. Getting on his knees, he looks down at Crowley’s face and arms. The skin was mostly dirty from the lawn, his hair was filled with sticks, grass, and other flora, and on the midpoint on his left calf; a bruise had started to purple. “And you bruised yourself? Why are you even up this late?” Aziraphale exclaimed with nothing but concern.

“I couldn’t sleep, sat in the windowsill, fell out…” Crowley groaned- nothing but tired after the rough night and the garrulous worries of a new foster sibling. 

“Well, I’m going to take you upstairs,” Aziraphale pointed to the opened door “and then you are going to sleep,” He insisted, Crowley blew some air out of his mouth. 

“May I ask why _you_ are up angel?” Crowley asked daringly with a smile, Aziraphale sighed, and pinched his nose, then shook off the anger. He held out a hand, and just smiled. He didn’t need to waste time to argue. 

“I couldn’t sleep, do you wanna go back to your room?” Aziraphale asked, Crowley shooed his hand away and got up himself- wincing as his ankle touched the ground. He limped over to the opened door with Aziraphale on his tail. 

Aziraphale catches up with Crowley, and closes the door behind him. Aziraphale seizes up, and nervously thumbs at the cross necklace around his neck. Crowley looked down at him, almost guilty for even thinking about denying Aziraphale. 

“Fine I’ll go to sleep tonight,” Crowley caved, he limped up the stairs; almost forgetting about Agnes for a second. The two went off into their room, and none of them went to sleep afterwards. 

* * *

**January 27th 1995**

**Aziraphale's word of the day:**

**_Lineage_ ** **: direct descent from a particular ancestor.**

* * *

The next morning; Aziraphale had been impossibly chipper. He had a skip in his step and there was a little bit of genuine excitement in his smile to meet the other foster kids. He skipped down the stairs to find almost everyone emmassing in the hallway. Crowley wandered at the edge of the group- which made it easy for him to catch Aziraphale's attention. 

"Hey angel, we're waiting for Gabe to finish making breakfast," Crowley explained, he peeled off from the group to speak to Aziraphale, "Look I'm sorry you had to help me like that, especially after I gave you the 'talk' and all." Aziraphale laughed and shook his head.

"No, no, no dear, it's all fine! We can't all keep that up all the time, you just had bad timing," Aziraphale assured, he looked at the painting down the hall.

It was Agnes, and a very young girl- who had very large round glasses. 

The kitchen door opened.

"Oh you like the painting? It's of Ms. Nutter and her granddaughter who rolls around every once and awhile." 

"Oh I- I was just admiring it," Aziraphale paused, "wait, who are you?" He turned around while fiddling with his hands. His line of sight was met with a greasy apron, and as he leaned his head upward to see a surprising well groomed, square jawed, all American looking boy. His smile was all American as well. 

"Gabriel, but people around here call me Gabe," he did not extend a hand as he spoke, but instead held a door open for hungry teens. 

All of the other kids in the home poured into the dining room, but Aziraphale and the cook stayed behind. 

"Oh!" Aziraphale made a little clap with his hands "Crowley mentioned you the other day," he continued. Gabriel took a step forward past Aziraphale- when the smaller boy followed, Gabriel snaked a hand over to his mid back and gave it a pat. 

"Ah Anthony, is quite the character alright." Gabriel sighed- he led Aziraphale to the second table that only one person sat at. 

Their hair was black and shaggy, and their face was filled with displeasure; almost as if a little rain cloud was constantly above their head. 

"Anthony is a crass bastard that's what he is…" they grumbled- gripping onto the glass of orange juice, and sliding it away. Aziraphale saw the set table, and assumed that the rather skimpy plate of only egg whites were not his, but instead the heartier plate of scrambled eggs and toast. He sat down in front of it.

"I think that Cro- Anthony is rather nice just a bit.." Aziraphale trailed off, looking down. 

"Stupid," both the American and the shorter child muttered in unison. 

Aziraphale laughed a little, "Yes, that's just about right…" 

"So this is Aziraphale, Beez why don't you introduce yourself?" Gabriel chided, sitting down at his plate of only egg whites. 

"My name is Beelzebub LaVey, and don't freak out about it bible-boy." Beelzebub shoots an especially icy glare at Aziraphale and his cross hanging from his neck. He stays quiet about Crowley's comments. Hear no evil, speak no evil. 

"Oh! My name is Aziraphale Fell, nice to meet you Beelzebub!" He was uncomfortable, but he had to be accommodating. Even if it wasn't his house. 

"Aziraphale Fell?" Beelzebub gave Aziraphale an extra harsh glare as they picked at their food.

"My family was a Christian family, an only child who needed to be named after a grandfather…" he reluctantly tacked on. He took a bite of his eggs, and his eyes lit up. 

Gabriel smiled- not even bothering to hide the pride. "They're really good aren't they?" Aziraphale nodded vigorously while setting his fork down.

"Mhm!" He swallowed, he was told so many horror stories about foster homes- none of them were this pleasant, so why was it so nice here. 

"Well, the chore board up front says that we have dishwashing, so you can really say you _worked_ for your meal!" Gabriel cheered with a hearty punch to the shoulder- which hurt a lot by the way. They boy was built for his age, and there was a good six inches of space between the two's head. 

"Oh a chore board? Neither Ms. Nutter or Cr-Anthony explained that to me," Beelzebub huffed- a smile and a roll of the eyes accompanied them. 

"Of course the lazy oaf didn't tell you anything, and let me guess he offered to fix up your room too?" Aziraphale nodded. "Don't plan on it, he has done the same for all of us." Gabriel nodded as well. 

"Hey, it looked like Ms. Nutter put the room renovations on the board so you guys are stuck together now." Gabriel hissed between his teeth. Shortly after, he took the whole mass of egg whites and spinach into his mouth and ate it all in one bite. "Which is quite." He said mouth full, he swallowed and finished his sentence "unlucky." 

"Well, I should be fine, he's a bit of a trouble maker-" Beelzebub let out a small laugh, "but we seem to get along." He thumbed the ends of his sweater vest nervously. Gabriel grabbed his and Aziraphale clean plates before signaling for him to follow. 

"Alright everyone 8:45 get to your stations, Az, you and I are on dish washing if you don't remember," Gabriel announced, sounding like an American football commentator. The two peeled off into a side room, where Gabriel had already filled the sink. The small room was separated from the kitchen by a portion of a wall. The dim light did not compliment the yellow paint on the walls. 

He felt like he couldn't breath, but with Gabriel there; he was only allowed to laugh.

"So what are we doing?" He asked without really thinking. Gabriel set the smaller stack of dishes into the water. 

"Washing dishes silly- we're on station until we finish, but you need to check your schede." Gabriel paused "Hey, can you make yourself useful and get all the other plates?" 

* * *

After about 15 minutes of scraping plates, washing, and casual conversation Aziraphale decided something: he liked Gabriel. He liked his eyes which had a violet undertone, and his large hands. He also got some pointers that were much more helpful than Crowley's over dramatic remarks. 

  1. Check the chore board every morning, it's set to the day. 
  2. Generally speaking, wake up at 7:30.
  3. Generally speaking, retire to your room by 8:45
  4. Be careful of the two youngest; Hastur and Ligur. They like to set new people on fire (but mostly just their things)



As Aziraphale set down the last plate in the cupboard, Gabriel looked him over.

"Say Az- you know what Crowley does right?" Gabriel asked, leaning on the sink counter with both his arms behind his back. Aziraphale shook his head. 

"No, I don't think I do?" He said with caution, he stood upright; his hands in a nervous fold under his waist.

"Well, he isn't like us- he landed himself in here. Not his parents," he paused and looked up. "Last time _I_ checked he not only was in a cult when he lived in England." Another pause, maybe for dramatic effect "He was in a gang." Gabriel tapped the side of his face and smiled. "Check is face sweet-cheeks." 

Aziraphale didn't dare say anything until, Gabriel did dare instead. 

"He tells some other story about his mom and pop, the man is a satanist you know. He just wants people to get close" Gabriel stepped over to Aziraphale, and put a hand on his shoulder, accompanied with a cutting stare that made Aziraphale's face red. "So he can hurt them later." 

"Oh thank you for te-" 

"And I don't want that to be you." 

Another shiver.

* * *

Crowley had begrudgingly started to watch the "twins" which was a name earned not by age, not by brotherhood, but by their constant and consistent company of each other. They liked to do plenty of things, but they loved to cause trouble the most. 

Hastur; the older of the two, had ripped out plants from the front garden and had intended to place them on somebody's bed. Ligur had taken some steak knives from the kitchen through some miraculous happening. 

It was like having two kids on leashes and they are both traveling in different directions. 

They were fine around Agnes, but she had taken off at 7 AM, leaving only a note of: 

_"Getting medicine at the pharmacy, I'll be back around noon."_

Crowley had also noticed that room clean up was set for tomorrow after breakfast, not today. No, instead they had wood chopping up front. He saw Aziraphale and decided that the distinctive duo are now Beelzebub's issue now. 

"Angel! We have fire duty today, so let's go right now- c'mon what are you waiting for?" Aziraphale gave him a skewed look. "Well, I'm not gonna wait up I'll see you on the left wing? Okay well, see you there!" Crowley left, climbing down the stairs farthest to the left down the hall, and disappearing under spiral stairs. 

* * *

They met in the back garden, where they began the wood chopping process. In which, Aziraphale would begin with trying to use to axe but can't pick it up, so Crowley offers to do all the chopping. Aziraphale insists that he does something, so he grabs logs one by one from across the yard- tripping while running back and forth. 

Crowley laughed every time. 

It was nice while conversation was idle. 

"Why won't you just let me do it this time?" Crowley leaned on the ax after he cut the fourth log in half, and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. 

"You said that I need to carry your own weight, so logs will be how I carry!" Aziraphale insisted, setting down the 5th. 

"Well you carried enough with Gabriel- what a prick am I right?" He said as he lugged the ax over his head and swung. It lodged into the top, where Crowley split it with a lilt. 

"Well, I thought he was quite sweet," Aziraphale shot back. Crowley scoffed.

"He's a complete wad, and he's a narcissist!" He threw his arms up and let the ax fall to the floor. In that moment, something tumultuous bubbled in Aziraphale’s stomach, and he almost spat out in disgust. 

"At least he isn't some devil worshiper!" Crowley froze, and he froze just enough for Aziraphale to notice a mark on his face. Aziraphale gasps theatrically. 

“Really? A gasp, what are we in a cheesy soap?” Crowley turns around, placing a hand over the left side of his gaunt face. 

“You have a face tattoo? What is it? Some devil symbol?” Aziraphale spouted, he circled around- steadily this time. 

“Yes, Angel! It’s a face tattoo! I’ve had it since I was born. I was born into the occult and I agree with it’s ‘demonic’ ideas! Is that what you want to hear?” Crowley clutched onto the cloth he had been using to wipe his head- trying his hardest not to slap his new foster sibling. 

“Whatever could you mean?” Aziraphale pressed, gesticulating wildly, also in an attempt to waive his anger. 

“I am a foster child! I’m almost an adult, I am _not_ living a blessed life! I might as well be in hell for what I care! I might as well think like my gramps and assure that I can do whatever I want!” He took his sunglasses off and shoved them in his jacket pocket. “We have enough wood, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Crowley sighed and trudged off, leaving Aziraphale behind in the garden. 

“I…” Aziraphale drifted off, not sure what to say. 

* * *

Crowley would go to sleep that night, but not before comforting himself that he just got another bratty foster sibling. 

Aziraphale would pray for Crowley, but would also steal the only two books that he had in his room while the dark resided there. 

He carried two books out of Crowley’s room that night. 

_Liber Al Legis: Book of Law_

_The Necronomicon_

Both authored by one Aleister Crowley

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna get the next chapter out asap. hope y'all liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked the first of 15 chapters! I have it all planned out and will be releasing chapter 2 within the next week! This is my first active project since Bear Trap and I plan on finishing it.


End file.
